Maybe Saito wasn't so bad after all
by Guile
Summary: Some other familiars that could have come up - and not just Louise's. A variety pack of crossovers. First up, Team Fortress 2.
1. RED ZERO

A/N: In various corners of the internet, Zero no Tsukaima crossovers are really popular just now. This is going to serve as a repository for my takes on the subject, one per chapter. First up, the start of a (currently stalled) Team Fortress 2 crossover I'm calling RED ZERO.

* * *

><p>It was a beautiful day for those gathered in the spacious courtyard of the Tristain Academy of Magic. These children of the aristocracy were here to learn magic, the emblem of the nobility in this land. In the massive four-towered Academy as in their own family's compounds, these young nobles knew no privation or hardship, their every need or desire met by servants, by wealth and by magic itself.<p>

This was shortly to change, because Louise Francoise de Blanc de la Valliere was about to attempt the Summon Servant spell again.

"What's she going to summon?"

"Bet she can't. Bet it's another explosion."

"You're on! Even if she fails the Summon Servant spell, nothing'll happen, not an explosion."

"Haven't shared classes with her yet, eh?"

The students as a whole took a long step back.

She began. "Oh my Servant, who exists somewhere in the universe! Oh great familiar spirit, I beg - I command," she corrected herself. "Answer my summons and appear!"

The smart students found something or someone to hide behind.

Almost instantly, an explosion tore up the Academy courtyard, emanating from Louise de la Valliere's wand. Students went flying, though the unfocused blast didn't result in any serious injuries.

"I knew it," Montmorency groaned.

"Is everyone all right?" their professor Colbert called as the dust began to clear.

The one summoned brushed dust off his suit. That green oval was, bar none, the _worst_ teleport he had ever experienced. Dell Conagher, their engineer, was a genius by comparison. He'd just assumed the Texan was experimenting again; it'd seemed like a useful upgrade, a window they could step through instead of a platform they were forced to stand on to make use of the teleportation.

Now, where had he appeared? Noting that he was surrounded, he activated his Cloak and Dagger, vanishing entirely. Of course, he was surrounded by schoolchildren if the uniforms were to be believed, so his initial alarm appeared unfounded.

"Ahh, that's our Louise the Zero," Karce cooed.

"I _felt_ that one work!" Louise protested.

"Yes," Karce said gravely, looking around at the destroyed lawn. "A success, certainly."

The other students burst into laughter.

The gentleman spy considered. So the pink one seemed the most likely culprit. A budding engineer, or something stranger? Not a particularly successful one if the mocking laughter was anything to go by. He'd have to keep an eye on her. But first…

Louise started as someone patted her on the shoulder consolingly before she felt a body brush past her. She spun around, but there was no one there.

"Professor Colbert," she said, weirded out, "are there any familiars that can turn invisible?"

"Ah, none that I can immediately think of," Colbert pondered.

"Poor Louise, reduced to making up imaginary familiars," Kirsche shook her head faux-sadly.

"But I _felt_-" Louise sighed. "Nevermind."

At the back of the crowd, a man all in red from the tips of his red leather shoes to the red slash of a tie to the red balaclava covering his face briefly appeared. A pudgy boy dropped to the ground like an axed tree from a professional chop to the back of a head. A second, identical Malicorne the Windward took the RED spy's place, picked up the boy and carried him off, humming a jaunty French tune. The students, watching the free entertainment that was Louise de la Valliere, didn't notice.

* * *

><p>Malicorne slowly came back to consciousness, the world seeming oddly blurry. Then he rolled over and puked.<p>

"Ah, a concussion. I am sorry about _z_at. Hit you a l_ee_ttle too hard, _z_ere, I am afraid. Too used to fighting in Redmond and Blutarch's land-war I suppose." The voice was deep, that of an adult man. The accent was soft and smooth, not one he could place. It wasn't Albion or Romalia, Malicorne was pretty sure.

Malicorne wriggled upright and away from the puddle of sick on the ground, the action made more complicated by the fact that something was binding his arms behind his back. When he finally managed it, he was shocked to find an exact copy of himself looking at him.

The Malicorne clone was sitting in one of the wooden chairs - they seemed to be an unused classroom - smoking a long, thin cigarette.

He whispered, "Wah-what are you?"

"Hmm. A good question," his clone murmured in that deep voice that seemed very out of place coming from Malicorne. "However, I did not make off wi_z_ you to talk about me. Let us talk about you."

Malicorne gathered himself through the terror that was creeping up his spine. "I am Malicorne de Grandple, called Malicorne the Windward, dot mage and noble of the house of Grandple! What is it you seek?"

"Information, boy, did I not already say _z_is? Try and keep up."

"I mean what are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing, if you do not give me trouble. I will keep you here while I have need of your body to move about freely. I am not a cruel man, but I do expect to be obeyed. So, you are Monsieur de Grandple. Next question, where are we? What is _z_is place?"

Malicorne really hoped the clone just needed his image, not… anything else. "How can you not know where you are?"

The clone suddenly had a knife in its hand, spinning it lazily but pointedly over his knuckles and through his fingers with great skill. Malicorne's attention was now well and truly grabbed.

"Yes!" he squeaked. "Tristain Academy of Magic. Sir."

"… And _z_e country?"

"… Tristain. Bordered by Gallia to the south and Germania in the east, and Albion the White Country." He kept going, seeing the utter lack of recognition on his own face staring back at him. "On the continent of Helkeginia."

The displaced spy realized with an unpleasant sinking sensation that he recognized none of those names.

Malicorne was not, in fact, stupid. He had been taken only moments after Louise had performed her botched Summon Servant spell, and was currently faced with a clone of himself that did not know its own location. He swiftly came to a conclusion that, while wrong, wasn't entirely off-base. "You! You're the familiar Louise summoned! She summoned a Doppelganger! I thought you were just myths!"

The doppelganger zeroed in only on one particular part of that, letting Malicorne draw his own conclusions. "'Summoned', you say. Does _z_is involve a green oval, around six feet tall, standing freely in _z_e air wi_z_out support?"

"Uh, not on our end. Maybe. We just do the spell, wave the wand, and something appears that's supposed to match our inner magic. I got a- hey, where's my owl?"

"Flew off somewhere, I assume. Explain _z_is 'magic'," his clone commanded.

Malicorne boggled. "I'm not sure how - I mean, we're still students. We're still learning the hard stuff."

Malicorne's double's chuberic face was frowning. "Try," his clone commanded.

"Okay, well, there are five elements, but nobody uses Void anymore. So that leaves Fire, Water, Earth and Wind. We're all better at one thing or another; I'm a Wind mage. As we improve, we hit plateaus in our powers called dot, line, triangle and square. Square's the highest most mages can do. A dot mage like myself can only use one element, but a line can use two, a triangle three, etcetera."

"And do you need _z_ese sticks to do your magic?" The clone was now balancing Malicorne's wand on his index finger like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Yes! Please don't break it, those are expensive."

The wand was once again safely stowed away on the clone's person.

The false Malicorne leaned back and took a long, slow puff of his cigarette. Held it in, then released it slowly. People liked it when they saw themselves in others; they would be more inclined to trust people like themselves. A good spy needed to have a certain ability to change the way they thought, to blend in with other people. And he was a very good spy, indeed. But… magic.

Well, never mind. Whether it was merely insufficiently explained technology, as the saying went, or whether things were different here did not really matter to him. In this place at this time, he would accept that magic existed, was a real force in these people's lives. Everyone here believed it, so he would too.

"Very well. Zis will be somewhat harder than anticipated, _z_at is all. Now, we will discuss your friends and schedule. And a certain girl…"

The man picked Malicorne's brain until he'd gotten everything he thought might be of use, before allowing the boy to rest.

"I'll pick you up something from the kitchens after class," the clone said, and left Malicorne alone.

* * *

><p>Louise turned casually, her eyes sweeping over the other students filing in. Same old, same old. No one looked like they were dying to take a shot at her for the Summon Servant ritual, though it was probably just a matter of time.<p>

And jerked back so far she almost fell out of her chair. "Holy Brimir! What is that!" she whispered furiously to the boy next to her. He followed her bug-eyed gaze, a little curious. "What are we looking at? Is it behind Malicorne and Guiche?"

Seated beside Guiche and Montmorency was a man in red. He had a paper mask over his face with a cutesy little drawing of the chubby, smiling Malicorne the Windward on it. His gloved hands were folded attentively before him, and he was looking down at the professor. Or at least, the mask was pointed that way. Seeming to sense her gaze, he turned to look directly at her.

Guiche leaned back and muttered something to him, and the man spoke back - in Malicorne's usual drawling, slightly-hoarse voice. Guiche laughed and turned back to pay court to Montmorency as he usually did.

She looked around. No one else seemed to think anything of the bizarre sight. Why didn't anyone else seem to notice him?

And why did something inside her tell her to kiss him?

The boy on her right edged away at ground the heels of her palms against her face to try and force that thought out.

Throughout the lesson, she kept stealing peeks at the elephant in the room. But every time she did his masked face would turn just a little toward her, aware of her regard, which would spook her enough to jerk her gaze away. The little hairs on her arms were crawling beneath that faceless stare.

She didn't hear more than one word in a dozen from professor Colbert the whole lesson.

Afterwards, she couldn't escape the classroom quickly enough, only to run into the weird thing in the hallways, and in the cafeteria, and again in the dorms. The creepy humanoid usually had the picture of Malicorne on his mask, though sometimes it was Montmorency or Guiche, and one time a third year student she had seen but didn't know.

He never seemed to notice her visibly after that time in the classroom, but he was always there, casually talking to other students or just hanging around watchfully. Or was it only one? Louise couldn't say for sure; all she could be sure of was that they wore the same foreign, impeccably pressed crimson suit.

She finally lost him - them? - outside the kitchens.

Louise spent the rest of the day huddled under her blanket in her dorm, her nerves too shot to even leave the safety of her room.

* * *

><p>He shook his head. Somehow, the girl could ferret him out, see through his disguises. Every single time.<p>

She was relatively subtle about it after that first time, but it was obvious enough when the girl would turn 90 degrees rather than passing him in the corridors, or even pull an about-face right after entering a room that contained him.

It was yet another variable that was going to make his plan to observe the girl more complicated, and his plan was already relying on far too many 'ifs' for his peace of mind. _If_ she would be willing to help him, _if_ she could replicate her feat at all… this was an interesting place, but he was quite fond of his original world.

Well, he did have other tricks in his bag besides his wizardry with disguises.

He decided to let the hooked fish run with his line, so to speak. He did have a growing boy stuffed into a closet to take care of as well, after all.

The kitchens were pathetically easy to infiltrate. Tristainian servants were so used to acceding to their nobles' irrational demands that he could probably do anything he felt like in this guise and the commoners wouldn't - couldn't - say a word.

It was a rather repugnant situation, even for a man who made assassination and espionage his stock in trade.

It was some time after the nobles' dinner, but the kitchens were still bustling. Servants moved about on errands with practiced ease, and the wood-burning stoves were lit and cooking an array of simple but hearty fare, nothing like the elaborate dishes made for the mages. It seemed the servants ate late, after their 'betters' had retired.

They had noticed his entrance, of course, and deferred to his noble self. He decided to take the tack of irritating but harmless nobleman. He was already beginning to think of it as his 'Guiche' persona, even despite his short acquaintance with the lad.

He smiled charmingly with his borrowed mouth. "Forgive me for interrupting your work, but I had hoped I could take away a dish of whatever you have cooking? I find myself quite peckish."

"Oh, a'course we have to drop everything whenever one a' the nobles fancies an evening snack…"

The chef who was grumbling was a stout, hairy man with a definite belly but thick, powerful arms. He was the closest thing to a rebel to the established order he had yet seen in this land.

"I do apologize for throwing off your schedules."

The chef looked unimpressed. "Siesta, load up a tray for him so we can get him out of our hair."

'Siesta' turned out to be one of the servants, a cute little thing in a simple but well-made black dress and white apron. She wore her black hair in a sort of pageboy cut with long bangs and her features were vaguely asian.

Where the chef was surly, the maid was frightened when confronted by a noble. Terrified might not be too strong a word. It left him feeling repulsed. The mark of good leaders were that they were better loved than feared by their people; all too many in power believed Macchiavelli's treatise on that point, and preferred to rule through fear. It was obvious that the nobles of Tristain were of the latter. It might make his job easier in certain circumstances, but he did not like it.

He dipped into a short but courteous bow, one hand behind his back. With the other he held her hand and brought it to his lips, though his lips never touched her knuckles. "Please be at ease. I can handle a tray well enough that you need not bother yourself on my account."

She simultaneously blushed and wilted, obviously torn between embarrassment and nerves. The fright seemed to be winning.

The chef, evidently feeling protective of the maid, drew him upright with one of his burly arms with as much difficulty as he would lift a child and swiftly sent him on his way. Within moments, he found himself outside the kitchens with a bowl of fragrant stew and slightly stale bread in hand.

He shrugged and went on his way. He engaged his Cloak halfway to the unused classrom he's stashed Malicorne in and didn't remove it until he was in front of the correct door, just in case someone might be in the position to see 'Malicorne' wandering around with a tray of food.

The clone was back. "Dinner time, boy."

Malicorne groaned. "Finally! I thought I was going to starve. Also, I've lost feeling in my hands."

The spy took this opportunity to not need to mimic the boy's voice, allowing his own accent to shine through. "I do not enjoy _z_is ei_z_er, you realize. Much easier to just kill you and hide your body in _z_e refuse." The clone really didn't look bothered by that thought.

Malicorne gulped. "On second thought, it's really not so bad. Being tied up isn't too hard to get used to," he back-tracked.

"_Z_at's what I _z_ought." In short order, Malicorne was set free and handed a spoon. He fell to with a will, devouring the meal with zeal. Considering Malicorne, a noble, had never been denied anything and that he obviously enjoyed his food from the look of him, only eating twice in one day was probably unpleasant.

"So, if I can ask, what have you been up to in my body?" he said between bites.

"You really do not grasp _z_is 'prisoner' concept, do you?"

"Well, it's really boring in here," Malicorne said in defense.

"Very well," the clone shrugged. "I have not accomplished much as of yet. I have attended classes, I have observed _z_e goings on of _z_e school. Tonight, I shall investigate your library and sleep in your bed."

"I'm surprised Guiche and Montmorency didn't notice anything." Surprised and a little hurt. "You must be very good. Or can you read minds?" Malicorne looked at him with a paranoid look that wouldn't have looked out of place on a soldier of the spy's acquaintance.

"I am very good," he said simply. "And now, it is time for _z_e closet again."

Malicorne eyed him for a long moment, weighing his chances if the spy read him right, but presented his hands obediently. The spy could respect him for that, being able to recognize that one of them held all the cards in this scenario and wait for a better chance.

The boy still ended up in the closet, of course.

The library, unfortunately, turned out to be something of a dead end. For one thing, it was not quite as impressive a collection as he'd hoped upon hearing the word 'library'. In a pre-industrial society without a printing press, even a prestigious school might only have half a hundred books in its collection, each one an expensive, hand-scribed work of art.

And then there was the fact that though the people here seemed to speak his native French, their writing was some runic alphabet that shared similarities but was not quite right. It was like trying to read something written five hundred years ago. He could read it, but it was slow-going, often requiring him to sound out the words or reread it several times to ensure he understood, like a child just learning to read.

He had borrowed (stolen) only one that was entitled 'Thee Historie ofe Magicke'. He could work his way through it in his spare time.

He was pleasantly surprised by Malicorne's room, at least. Considering this was a school for nobles, perhaps he shouldn't have been. The room was large and would be well-lit in the morning from the window. The bed was queen-sized and stuffed with goose feather, there was a standing wash-basin filled with clean water and a source-less illumination that he presumed to be magic.

He had discovered that the popular blond boy, Guiche, was his nearest neighbor in this level of the dorms, being located some twenty-five steps down the hallway. He headed over, intending to speak with Guiche and try to subtly inquire about the light magic.

Instead, he got to witness a rather young brown-haired student knock on his door thrice, and the door opened swiftly to reveal Guiche. The girl was attractive and well-formed, if not as eye-catching as Guiche's blonde sweetheart Montmorency, as he'd come to expect from the students here. They were all the sons and daughters of aristocrats and courtiers, after all, having the money and inclination to present a pleasing appearance before prospective allies.

Well, that did put a new spin on things, but it ultimately wasn't his problem. They began to converse, Guiche placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her just inside the doorway, out of sight of casual eyes. He also waved his hand over the light and it appreciably dimmed.

That answered the question he hadn't even been sure how to ask without revealing an un-Malicorne-like ignorance. But having no other pressing issues, the faux-noble drifted closer. The girl, who he learned was named Katie, was offering Guiche baked goods.

"Truly, your cooking is divine, Katie. I must surely be blessed beyond all men," Guiche declared.

Katie giggled coquettishly.

He had to shake his head. Ah, young love. Or lust, at least.

He spoke in Malicorne's voice, "Really, Guiche. Must you posture for _every_ woman you meet?"

"I am a rose," Guiche said primly. "And a rose exists for the pleasure of all."

Guiche really was like he'd been, when he was that age - just a little less competent and a little more verbose.

He withdrew, leaving them to their own devices. Whatever else he was, a voyeur of children he was not.

* * *

><p>The next day was set aside for masters and their familiars to bond. This mostly seemed to involve sitting at tables set up outside in the courtyard, sipping tea and eating small biscuits in the company of the various animal familiars. He'd pulled up a chair with a pair of second years, one with a black cat and the other with a bizarre floating eye thing. He gathered from them that creating the green portals and absconding with unaware creatures (including poor unaware spies) was commonplace in these parts, since every single one of these mages had a creature of some kind with them.<p>

He once again had cause to bless the self-absorbed natures of the nobles around him. Not a single one bothered to question that 'Malicorne's' owl was missing.

Lacking a better idea, he attended and observed the other nobles. Unfortunately, Louise was not among them. Just from what he had pieced together from his own observations and talking with other nobles, he would have thought her the type to brazen it out and come anyway, despite not having a familiar, which he gathered was a mark of shame.

It had occurred to him that by the standards of Tristain, _he_ might be supposed to be this girl's familiar, having stepped through her portal. He wasn't particularly enthused with what amounted to magical slavery. Redmond paid him a premium for his services, and the exit clause on his contract was much more friendly than what a 'lifelong familiar' would be expected to hold to.

But no matter. The girl would have to get her lips on him to seal the deal, and that was unlikely to happen.

He had just resolved to investigate her absence when there was some sort of commotion not far from his table.

It seemed to center on Guiche, as these things tended to do. Mildly interested, he joined the other staring onlookers.

"Montmorency, please," the blond noble was saying. "Do not become angry. I merely dropped your fragrance and this servant girl picked it up for me. Terribly remiss of me, I know, but please direct your anger for that faux pas onto me. She has nothing to do with me."

The even more blonde noble, Montmorency, was scowling. The jealous type, he assumed. The target of her ire was the wilting maid he had met in the kitchens, whose name had been…

"Ah yes, Siesta," he murmured.

Montmorency wheeled around. "You know this servant, Malicorne?"

He shrugged and answered. "Somewhat, yes. She is rather cute, as you have observed, but she wouldn't try to poach Guiche away from you. She's far too terrified of nobles to attempt it. Rightfully so, of course, since I gather you could strike her without any negative repercussions."

He sighed and said to himself, "Even serfs would have it better than the servants here do."

"Montmorency, this display is beneath you," Guiche pleaded. "Please do not twist your rose-like features so. A rose spreads joy where it may, but my heart does not wander so fickly. Your fragrance is the only one that I would wear."

The disguised noble sucked in a breath as his gaze alighted on Katie, the first year student from last night, had emerged from the crowd just as he said those words. Her souffle trembled in her hands. At first he thought her trembling, but he swiftly divined that she was shaking in rage. Due to having their backs to her, neither Guiche nor Montmorency saw the explosion about to happen.

"Oh, _really_, Guiche de Gramont?" she growled, her voice doing a passable impression of the hosts of hell.

Guiche wheeled around, and gulped. "Ah. Katie. What… a… surprise." He came up blank, his playboy instincts failing him. He really looked like he hadn't expected this very scene when dating several women at once.

Montmorency piled on. "And this girl is…?" she said with veiled menace.

Guiche's eyes darted around, looking for someone to blame to extricate him from this mess. But he would not stoop so low as to cast blame on the women, and 'Malicorne' was the only other male within striking distance.

He shot Guiche a pitying glance. "Really, you have no one but yourself to blame, Guiche. One woman at a time should be more than enough for any man." He himself was popular with the fairer sex, but he treasured each romance before moving on to the next. Two-timing was terribly gauche.

Montmorency and Katie were not stupid, and had swiftly come to the more-or-less correct conclusions. They were looking angry enough to start flinging spells at any moment, and Siesta was in their line of fire as much as each other and Guiche were. Siesta was just cowering behind her tray, inching her way back and towards Malicorne.

Guiche dithered. He finally hissed at the other man, "You saw this unfolding. How could you allow such shame to fall upon these ladies?"

"Take responsibility for your actions, Guiche, or I will force you to do so," Malicorne spoke seriously, unimpressed. "Your actions caused this shame to fall upon these three women, not mine."

Guiche took a deep breath and, somewhat to Malicorne's surprise, manned up. "Montmorency. Katie. Let us retire to my room and I will give an accounting of myself to you, away from these prying eyes."

Montmorency scowled impressively. "You'd better make it good."

The two girls stomped off with their unlucky paramour.

He was a little curious to know if this would end with a duel to the death between Montmorency and Katie or the two women teaming up to beat Guiche like a drum, but even a spy didn't need to know _everything_.

He turned back to the rest of the gawking nobles. "The afternoon show is over now. Perhaps you all would care to get back to what you're supposed to be doing?"

Apparently his crisp command had had the right amount of authority in it, for most of the students obeyed and turned back to their previous conversations. The only exceptions were a well-endowed redhead and the blue-haired girl with the dragon, who were looking at him speculatively.

He did his best to ignore them, recognizing that he may have been acting un-Malicornely. This brought his attention to the maid that had accidentally started all this. She was staring at him in a rather different manner than the other two. Almost… worshipfully.

Almost hungrily.

Ah. Ahah.

"Well, you seem safe, and that's all over, so I shall be going now."

The false Malicorne turned and all but fled from the delectable but certainly underage girl.

* * *

><p>Osman, headmaster of the Magic Academy, looked at Louise from across his desk. The girl fidgeted and then straightened, obviously reminding herself that it was beneath a noble to squirm. Then a few moments later she'd repeat the process. He was half tempted to just keep staring and see how long she'd continue if left to her own devices.<p>

De Loungeville coughed quietly, reminding him to stay on task. Honestly, the woman was a slavedriver. Great legs, though.

"Um, headmaster, there's something weird going on. I've been _seeing_ things since the Summon Familiar ceremony," Louise blurted out.

Had the poor girl cracked under the pressure? Old Osman wondered. With the pressure to perform well all the students were placed under, to not shame their families, it was not unheard of. And he'd had reports of the youngest Valliere; clever in magical theory and hard-working, but seemingly unable to cast the simplest spells without exploding a classroom or setting something on fire.

"There's this man, all in red, with a mask over his face. He's been sitting in on our lectures, and following me around, and nobody else can see him!"

It certainly _sounded_ like the poor thing had gone round the bend, but Old Osman had been around long enough, and seen enough strange and inexplicable things that he couldn't say with true certainty that she was seeing things that were not there.

Well, Louise Valliere sounded shaken enough that perhaps his own news wouldn't be as badly received as he'd first thought. "I will have someone look into it," he promised her.

"However, that isn't why I called you up, Miss Valliere. It would seem word reached your family of your -" he tried to think of a more politic word than 'failed', and subbed in, "third attempt at the Springtime Familiar Ceremony. I am afraid your father has demanded you be pulled from the program and sent home. I am given to understand that you will be resuming bridal training for an eventual marriage."

Osman would have liked to reason with the man, stalled for more time, but his hands were tied. It was within the family's purview to decide to remove their child from schooling, and the Vallieres were among the most powerful nobles in Tristain, financially and magically.

He still wished he had made the attempt when he saw Louise curl inward like a wilting violet.

"I understand," she whispered. Despite the blow, she weathered it in a manner befitting a noble. "Thank you for informing me, headmaster."

"Your carriage is on its way and should be here later today."

The spy shook his head, frowning, even as he slipped out the door when Louise exited and let his cloaking field fade. She couldn't see through his Cloak as she could his disguises, it would seem and she was too dazed - or perhaps just unobservant - to notice his invisible presence near her.

Still, this was a problem. The pink one could not be allowed to leave, she was his best chance of understanding what had happened and recreating the experience.

* * *

><p>Malicorne was bored. He was more bored than he'd ever been in his life. One could only count the spider webs in his closet for the tenth or so time before the game lost its luster. He was bored enough that trying to access his magic without a wand seemed preferable to just sitting here in the dimness.<p>

So he was alternately straining his muscles and relaxing, focusing on his wind magic the way he had been taught and relaxing again, trying to visualize different effects in his mind, and basically trying to rediscover a lost art of magic. He had nothing better to do with his suddenly abundant free time.

He was resting from his endeavors again when he heard a scrabbling on the other side of the door.

"What? Is someone… is someone there?" he asked, fear and hope warring in his chest. "I'm here in this closet!"

Scrabble. Scrape. Bump. Something was knocked down from where it had been resting against his closet door.

His potential rescuer sounded close, and low to the ground. A child, perhaps.

Then he heard a soft hoot and his heart soared again. "Aloysius! Bless you, you magnificent bird! You came back for me!"

He started wrestling with the doorknob and between his efforts within and his bird's without, eventually turned and dumped him out almost on top of his familiar.

"Oh thank the Founder," he whispered. Aloysius was pecking at his bound hands, tearing at the rope and drawing blood, but he shook her off. "No time, we need to get out of here before it comes back."

His owl familiar obediently returned to his shoulder and he ran like the hounds of hell were after him. Well, perhaps not a hellhound, only a doppelganger that would doubtless decide a fleeing prisoner was more trouble alive than dead.


	2. Hero Maker

A middle-aged man with a thin, slightly scruffy black beard paged through a small book in an ill temper. He paced. He slipped fingers past his decorative colored glasses to rub away a developing headache. Finally he tossed the book over his shoulder and decided to just go with it. The last time he had attempted the Springtime familiar ritual was over ten years ago, and he'd gotten a perfectly serviceable familiar who called himself Cube.

Okay, so the familiar had apparently been a demon of some standing among the hierarchies of hell, and came complete with purple hair and bat wings, but other than that was a perfectly serviceable familiar. Did the cooking and cleaning, and wasn't a bad drinking partner.

But now he needed a new familiar, and damned if he could remember how the summoning ritual was supposed to go. Still, how hard could it be?

"Pentagram of the Five Ruinous Powers," yes, that sounded right, "grant me, the Hero Gendo Shinkicker, the familiar I deserve!" And then he shoved as much magic into the ritual as he could manage, reasoning that more magic was always better in these situations.

Thick gouts of lava erupted from the circle he had drawn. It splashed about, igniting the simple wood of his home and even melting the stone floor like wax.

"Holy crap!" he shouted, and retreated before the swift-flowing basalt could treat him to the same fate as his poor walls.

From within the lava fountain, a shape emerged. A young and comely hand cut through the air, and the lava shrunk back in on itself like an obedient dog.

The girl Shinkicker could now see was quite the most ridiculously dressed person he had ever seen. No less than six large red-skull-on-a-yellow-flame adorned shoulder pads extended like spikes from her shoulders, layered one on top of the other. Hanging from her shoulder pads was a black cape with gold filigree and red velvet lining that went down to her knees. Her arms were covered to the forearm in black leather with smaller brass studs and spikes in neat rows, and her forearms sheathed in some strange red metal. The arm on the right was a red spiked gauntlet, her left a complicated twisting design of red metal vines set with a sapphire half as large as her fist. Her fingers were tipped with red nails like claws.

Her breasts were also covered adequately by more black leather emblazoned with red and yellow flames. Besides the aforementioned clothing, her only nod to modesty was a black leather loincloth that matched the rest of her outfit, with strips attached to the breast cups and around her narrow hips to keep it from falling down.

Almost every revealed inch of her was covered in red runic tattoos, in bands about her revealed thighs and stylized eye tattoos just beneath her breasts and on her forehead. Through her left eye - which seemed very large, and glinted red-brown in the light of the lava - was a jerky red line like a scar, which ended just beneath her pert, lavender-painted lips. Her long, luxurious waves of hair were a waterfall going straight up, as though buoyed by an invisible but constant updraft of wind.

"Hello, Papa," she said.

Then his roof started to cave in, and he remembered his house was still burning.

"Brimir's balls! My house! Okay, everybody out! Out, out, out!"

His bizarre new familiar obligingly fired a blast of, well, fire that detonated against one of the exterior walls with a thunderous impact. The wall exploded outward, spraying the street outside with debris.

This had the unfortunate effect of bringing the roof down on them immediately.

"The door! We could have used the - shit." Gendo threw himself aside as plaster and wood and shingle came down, but he wasn't going to make it.

Then his familiar was between him and the falling roof, straddling his body, and delivered a punch upwards into the collapsing masonry. This somehow, improbably, redirected incoming death. So, he was alive. The downside was that then he had to endure her carrying him out of the burning building bridal style.

He turned to take in his dying house. Well, she'd destroyed everything of value he possessed except for the clothes on his back and his ogre-killing knife, but she'd also saved him, too, so it turned out to be kind of a zero sum game.

Whatever, it wasn't like he was attached to the place, especially since after Cube left it had really turned into a dump (instead of only mostly a dump). He'd only got the house along with his Chevalier title and honorary noble status anyway.

Except… a small fireball erupted towards the back of the house, then another, and another. Right around where his bedroom had been.

He fell to his knees in horror. "No! Gendo's drinky stash!" he wept.

Oh, he would get her for this.

"Ah," she said, chagrined. "I'm going to get sent out adventuring again to pay for this, aren't I?"

* * *

><p>Gendo sat on the edge of the bridge near his home and plotted terrible retribution. Oh yes. His vengeance would be slow and sure as the relentless press of time.<p>

Gradually he became aware of his new familiar seated nearby, looking like a kicked puppy. Her hair had calmed down and lay about her shoulders and down her back like a normal human being, but she was still in her ridiculous bondage fetish gear.

Almost unwillingly drawn from his plotting, he finally asked, "Okay, first… what are you supposed to be?"

"I'm your daughter. You aren't going senile, are you? You're only 49, Papa."

"My daughter. Not, say, some demon I summoned from the deepest pits of hell because I'd been drinking?"

"Well, that too. God gave me to you," she supplied helpfully.

"God," he said flatly.

"Yes. The first time, I mean. You killed Mister Lucifon, Prince of Darkness, and then later I appeared to you in a fireball and God told you to raise me as your own daughter. You raised me from when I was 10 to the time I was 18."

"I don't think I've drunk enough to forget all that. Cube, do you remember- oh, right. Ran away, the cowardly little bastard."

"Cube is gone?" she asked, looking sorrowful.

"Oh, yes. I had this layabout Cube as my last familiar. I think he ran off, ungrateful cur. Or maybe he died, I don't know," Gendo said vaguely.

The deviless said sympathetically, "I'm so sorry, Papa. Did you try something outside his comfort zone in bed again? You know he'll get over it in a few days and come back."

"I'm not sleeping with Cube!" he yelped, and barely refrained from tumbling into the river. His ogre-killing knife hit the water with a splash and sank to the bottom. He watched the spreading ripples mournfully. That just left the clothes on his back and… he fished around in his pockets… six silver ecu to his name.

He wondered why all these things that deserved to happen to bad people happened to him.

"Of course not, father," she said obediently, patiently disbelieving.

"Not nearly drunk enough for this," he grumped to himself. "Whatever. So you think you're my daughter. Figures I get the brain-damaged familiar, but at least there's nothing wrong with your power. What's your name?"

"Lizzie. Lizzie Shinkicker."

He pondered. He supposed it wasn't impossible he'd had a kid and never known about it, leaving aside the fact that she was apparently a fire demon… which was weird, considering what little magic he laid claim to was wind, but never mind… the two months after his chevalier knighting ceremony, for example, were mostly a blur thanks to the ceremony having an open bar and him being awarded 10,000 ecu for services rendered during the war.

He never did get those months back in his memory and most of the money - and Cube's left kidney - had been gone when he'd sobered up, but the old king of Tristain had apparently worked out a deal with him sometime during the binge to pay him 5000 ecu a year as long as he stayed away from the capital until the next war, so it was still a net win.

"Hmm…" Anyway. Daughter. A test. "Lizzie, what is best in life? If you were really my daughter, you would know the answer to that."

"To crush your enemies, to see them driven before you like leaves before the storm, and to hear the lamentations of their women and the screams of their children," she answered promptly. "That was an easy one, Papa. I've known that since I was 11."

"You _are_ my daughter," he said, amazed. "Well, that's good enough for me. Let's go find somewhere to hole up out of the wind."

"If we walk around for a little while, we could probably find someone suicidal enough to attack me in the street. That happens a lot. Sometimes I can't even go to the grocery store without some kidnapper with more guts than brains or adventurer looking to make a name for themselves trying to defeat me. Then we can stab them and take their stuff.""I love you, Lizzie." Gendo clapped a hand on her shoulder, mindful of all the spikes. "Let's go do that."

* * *

><p>Gendo hunched inward as the pair walked down the street, like a turtle retreating into his shell.<p>

He had neglected to take one aspect of their plan into account; that the familiar following along behind him, seemingly immune to the stares, was a young girl dressed like the most outlandish hooker any of the watching Tristainians ever seen.

People were staring, and whispering. And the pointing! He was never going to be able to go out for a drink in this town again.

Not to mention it was just a matter of time until the local constables were called, for indecent exposure if nothing else.

Finally, an man sidled up to them. He had a pencil thin moustache and sideburns that were absurdly curled, resembling a cresting wave. He was wearing a red surcoat with a similarly absurd ruffled collar. Considering the man and Lizzie side by side, it had to be noted that Lizzie's bondage gear of an outfit came off looking slightly better. He looked, in short, like the sort of creepy middle-aged man who has damp, clammy hands and no morals.

"Ah, my good man. A simply beautiful young woman you have there. Perhaps I might… sample the wares, so to speak? If she is as delectable as she seems, perhaps a monthly fee to retain her as a mistress-"

"Oh, thank Brimir," Gendo broke in, relieved. "Into this alley out of the public eye, now. Yes, right this way…"

"So you'll accept-" the man began happily.

"Lizzie, this is the one. Your sword, please."

"Yes, Papa."

"Why are you- where did you get that sword?" The fop was sweating profusely. "I'll have you know I am a noble, and you cannot simply-"

Lizzie had produced a very large weapon with a guard wrought of gold and set with a single uncut ruby the size of Gendo's eye, and three barbed blades extending outwards in a fan like the claw of some apex predator. Where she had been hiding it, he had no desire to discover. Despite the material worth and a shape that shouldn't have been practical to swing around at all, it would never be mistaken as a ceremonial piece, too smoothly was it handled, too well-fitting in her hand. There was a certain air of lethality about the sword that said without words, this is a weapon that has ended many lives. Also, the blood dried on the blade was a good clue.

Without another word, she swung. The sword all but ripped the man in half, the blades both cutting and tearing. She smiled cheerily despite the few drops of blood that now dotted her leathers and face. Blood came out of leather easily, after all, not like her old dresses she was forever having to wash again and again to get the stains out.

"Lizzie, I am shocked at you!" Gendo said heatedly.

She blinked. "But Papa, you said to-"

"A fine blade like that, and you let it rust by leaving blood on it? No daughter of mine would be so careless with their weapons. I should think I taught you better!"

"Daaa~d, it's the Sword of the War God, its thirst for battle keeps it ever-ready to strike down the foe. Also, it's like made of Godmetal or something. It doesn't [I]_get[/I] _rusty!"

"Don't you take that tone with me, young lady! You will clean your sword or I will turn you over my knee," Gendo ordered, getting into the swing of fatherhood.

"Fine, Papa. size="1"Such a drama queen/size."

"Good. Now, let's go through his pockets and go rent a room."

"I think I know how to loot a corpse, Papa, geez…"

Gendo and Lizzie were soon on their way, an unusual feeling of good karma lodged in his breast.

* * *

><p>The 'Noble Hare' was a quality establishment, as inns went, catering more to merchant caravans in need of a rest stop and slumming nobles who didn't want to give up <em>all<em> their creature comforts than the everyday working man. The common room was well-kept and comfortably warm even on a brisk spring day by the large fireplace. The rooms above were spacious and comfortable.

The price matched the quality, but it was worth every ecu.

Or it would be, except that the proprietor didn't seem inclined to give them a room.

"And why not?" Gendo demanded. "My gold is as good as the next man's!" Except for being taken from a dead man's pockets, but that was just standard adventurer stuff.

The matronly woman behind the counter sniffed in an annoyingly superior way. Gendo controlled his Fist of Death with some difficulty. "I have _money_. You are an i_nn_. Why must this be a _problem_?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Sir, we are a reputable inn. We do not cater to… to… that!" She pointed at Lizzie.

He turned to look at the girl following behind him. What was it that was so objectionable? Maybe it was the drops of drying blood splattering across her face, but really it was hardly noticeable. And hell, he'd come into inns absolutely covered in blood during his adventuring days, and aside from requiring a little extra coin for cleaning fees they'd never raised a fuss. Adventuring was more of a Germanian thing, but Tristain still posted bounties on orcs and other unsavory types all the time.

He turned back to the woman, baffled. "And what is 'that', exactly?"

"Sir, we are not that kind of inn! You can take your… your… _lady of ill repute_ to some lower-class tavern!"

Gendo froze. "Ah," he said quietly. Oh, yes, that was right, wasn't it? He'd apparently gotten so used to Lizzie, the girl slotting in at his side so simply and without fanfare that he'd briefly forgotten the _outfit_. Probably to save his sanity. In conservative Tristain, Lizzie's black Bondage Queen leathers were as shocking as one of the barbarian queens of ancient Germania sitting down to join you for an afternoon tea.

Lizzie's hand had disappeared ominously beneath her cape, which suddenly looked like it could indeed hold her wicked blade within its confines. She said, "Papa, should I -?"

"Not right now, Lizzie," he said hastily. Killing a man out of sight of the public was one thing, and the man had been a loathsome toad anyway, but cutting down a respected merchant in broad daylight would be tricky to get out of. He needed his good reputation or he could wave goodbye to the king's stipend.

Having a demonic killing machine for a daughter was going to take some thought, he realized.

Time to brazen it out. "That woman," he told the proprietor frostily, "is my _daughter_." -Ish. Familiar. Whatever.

"I don't care what sick roleplay you're doing, you and your 'daughter' can go find another inn," she said with finality.

Gendo stomped away. Lizzie went with him, quizzing him on what 'roleplaying' was.

He told her it was a board game.

* * *

><p>Another inn turned them away before Gendo finally admitted defeat and turned his feet to a particular inn just off the main street. It was fairly small as inns went, with only six rooms on the second floor and the first floor devoted to a bar area, but the many windows bedecked in colorful curtains made it seem larger and more open.<p>

"The Charming Fairy Inn?" Lizzie wondered, reading the sign. She dimpled. "I like fairies!"

"As well you should, young Madam. For fairies are light, and air, and beauty! My wonderful little fairies attend to my customer's every need, relieving stress and relaxing weary bodies. Oh, Gendo, I just knew you would return to me one day! Welcome, welcome!"

Gendo sighed, like the last breath drawn from a dying man's lungs. "Hello, Scarron."

The man in question was large and powerfully built, his muscular body shown off to great effect by his brief shorts and purple tanktop. He was also in possession of a rather dashing moustache and a short pointed goatee. "Please, come in, come in! My humble inn is yours. Why, Gendo, darling, it's been ages!"

"Papa," she began, but was cut off.

"Not a word, Lizzie," Gendo said firmly but wearily. He looked like he was steeling himself to enter. She wasn't sure why, this Scarron seemed really nice.

"Please, take any seat you like. Oh, you never stop by, you never write… this is a wonderful day. And did I hear correctly, Gendo, is this darling thing your daughter?"

"More or less," Gendo agreed for the sake of expediency.

"Oh, tres bien! I have a daughter as well, you know - oh, you simply must meet. You must! Girls, someone please serve my old friend and his daughter, I must bring Jessica by. Oh, Jessica~!"

"Yes, mi Mademoiselle!" several of the working girls chorused.

And with that the muscled inn owner flounced off in search of his daughter.

Lizzie was looking around with a practiced eye. Her time working sleazy bars was just a little blurry from all the alcohol fumes, but this seemed rather more upscale than her old job with Sam. And more importantly…

"It's really busy," she realized.

The bar area was packed with patrons seated at large circular tables eating the usual inn fare and young women in pastel, flouncy dresses that nonetheless left plenty of cleavage on display flitted about delivering drinks and collecting tips.

"Yes," Gendo said. "Scarron may act like that, but there's a keen mind hiding under all that corny creepiness."

A girl in a pale green ruffled dress with stiff skirts swung by and got their order; wine, stew and strawberry cake. The Charming Fairy Inn was suffused with the sort of noisy cheer that comes from people drinking their cares away.

"Cake?" Gendo asked.

"Cake," Lizzie said firmly.

Soon enough, Scarron returned from the back with a buxom young woman hardly older than Lizzie, more conservatively dressed than the 'fairies' but still with a vast expanse of cleavage. Lizzie wasn't exactly unendowed, but this girl had her beat by at least a cup size.

"My daughter Jessica," Scarron introduced proudly.

"So, you're the Hero Shinkicker, huh?" the girl said breezily. "Kinda scrawny for a war hero. Hey, Lizzie, right? Love your outfit."

"Thanks!" she said, pleased. "I like your hair handkerchief thing."

Jessica patted the item, pleased. "Come on, Lizzie, I'll show you around. Let's leave the old guys to their fun."

Scarron leaned over Gendo's elbow, putting his lips uncomfortably close to his ear. "I hate to ask, Gendo darling, but you _can_ pay, can't you?" If he couldn't, old friend or not he might just end up tossed out on his ear. Scarron was generous to a fault, but business was business. And there was a reason Scarron's place didn't need a bouncer; the muscular effeminate more than amply filled that role.

Gendo in answer tossed a few coins on the table. His purloined - somewhat blood-spattered - man-purse was starting to feel rather light.

"Ah, that takes me back," Scarron reminisced on seeing the bloodied silk purse. "Out adventuring again, Gendo?"

"Something like that," he agreed.

"May I?" Scarron asked, gesturing to the empty seat at Gendo's table.

"It's your bar," Gendo pointed out.

"It is, is it not?" Scarron smiled proudly at his fairies. "Ah, Gendo, how long has it been since we were young and hearty adventurers, ready to take on the world?"

"Decades," Gendo agreed. He poured himself a glass of red wine and, after a few seconds indecision, poured one for Scarron too.

The inn owner took that as the invitation it was and took a seat.

Gendo took a sip. He tended to prefer something stronger, but strong spirits were more the province of Germania. Tristain and Romalia mostly did what they could with wine.

Scarron, meanwhile, was starting to wax romantic over days gone by. "Not content to take the world as we found it, we took up sword and fist and went out to change it," he said dreamily.

Gendo rolled his eyes. "It was always about the money, for me."

Scarron smiled knowingly. "I seem to remember differently, but never mind, never mind. And now, you are a Hero, and I, a respectable business owner."

Gendo let out a huff of laughter. "Respectable, he says."

"It's true, it's true!" Scarron proclaimed, wriggling in place. "I am a pillar of the community."

"Whatever. So, daughter, huh?"

"Oh yes, my little Jessica. Such a darling. I do wish you'd kept in touch," Scarron said reproachfully. "You never got to meet my Mariella. Ah, just remembering her fiery temper is a balm to my soul!"

"I thought you settled down with, what was her name, the spear-maiden… Jezebel?"

"Ah, no… we parted in time. The life of a tavern owner did not suit her," Scarron said regretfully.

That was something Gendo didn't understand. Despite acting the way he did, Scarron was actually completely straight. And the man rarely lacked for female companionship.

He slapped down another few coins and signaled for another bottle.

"Tres bien! The night is young, and we are not so very old yet!"

* * *

><p>Gendo got into his and Lizzie's room late, to find Lizzie already in bed. He was riding a pleasant buzz, and so the ensuing realization didn't bother him as much as it otherwise might have.<p>

The room was tastefully done in wood paneling and cheery yellow wallpaper. There was a stand with a basin of clean water and a thick fur rug in a pale pink color on the floor next to the bed.

Bed. Singular.

"Damn it, Scarron," he sighed. The eccentric restaurateur probably thought it would promote father-daughter bonding or skinship or some stupid thing. "Whatever, I don't care anymore."

He glanced out the window, which offered a good view of the street and a bit of the town. He thought he could see the burnt-out wreck of his house from here, but it could just be his imagination.

He sat down on the bed, feeling the over-stuffed goose-down mattress give under his weight. Scarron did have a taste for luxuries, always had. He watched Lizzie slowly slide towards the center of the bed, displaced by the shift in weight without ever waking up.

In sleep, her face lacking her usual cheery viciousness, she seemed… well, not less dangerous, exactly. She had no sleep clothes, so she was still sleeping in her 'queen of the netherworld' outfit with all it's sharp edges and points. But with her hair down and her face slack in slumber, she did seem younger, though. Unthinkingly, he put a hand on her head- to keep her from rolling into him, of course, not out of any familial feeling, he told himself.

Then he threw himself back, tumbling off the bed as old soldier's instincts warned him he was about half a second away from death. Lizzie's half-asleep half-hearted swing cut the air with the fearsome sound of displaced air, right where Gendo's neck had been.

"S'not time t'gettup yet, Cube…" she mumbled and let the ridiculous-looking three-pronged blade drop. It sank into the floor all the way to the hilt, like a regular sword through something considerably softer than a wooden floor.

"Founder dammit, girl!" Gendo winced, making sure he hadn't thrown his back out. He was getting too old to go doing sudden gymnastics like that. Familiars weren't supposed to attack their masters, but apparently this was one of those grey area 'shades of intent' things.

Or it could be…

"Oh yes, I forgot that we never completed the contract," Gendo realized. The summoning ritual was actually two spells: Summon Servant, and Contract Servant. He'd been distracted from attempting the second by his burning house.

He stood back and threw things at Lizzie until she woke up - he was no a fool. Lizzie complained, "Is this another one of your plans to toughen me up, Papa?"

"Never mind that. Come over here, Lizzie. Okay," he said slowly, trying to remember what one was supposed to say during the binding ritual. "I think it goes… pentagram of the Five Powers, bless this girl and make her my familiar!"

Then he laid a kiss on her lips to seal the mystical contract. He felt the magic flowing between them, not so much as the summoning itself but a considerable amount. His power rushing into her and a smaller stream of magic from her back to him, making a closed circuit.

Lizzie's magic had an odd feel to it. Somehow heavier than the magic he was used to. Less flexible, but denser. It settled into the pit of his Willpower uneasily, like a boulder settling at the bottom of a still pool of water.

"Papa," she blushed and began, "I know you must miss Cube, but I'm your daughter! That is just un-"

"Holy Brimir, will you shut up about me and Cube!" he half-begged, half-threatened.

"- not appropriate. Oh. Oh my. Oh gods, yes! Yes!" Lizzie suddenly shouted ecstatically as even more glowing red runes etched themselves into her flesh. "The power! The _absolute __**power!**_

Her flames licked up the walls, bathing them in a hellish light but not consuming the wood as she laughed and laughed and laughed. Her laughter reverberated around the small, tidy room like the toll of a great and terrible bell.

Gendo got the feeling that what he had created would one day destroy him. Of course, if he was the type to listen to misgivings he wouldn't be the man he was today, and he certainly wouldn't have accidentally summoned a daughter from hell.

"Okay, whatever," he said. "I always sleep on the left side, try to take it and I'll shiv you with this bottle." He brandished his half-empty wine bottle from the restaurant.

"Yes, Papa."

Sweet Brimir, he thought to himself. Look at those soulless eyes! She's going to knife me in my sleep one of these days, I just know it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's so you can feel my love!"

Creepy.

* * *

><p>Gendo woke to a tiny female form pressed against his side. His familiar, not to mention 30 years his junior, he reminded his traitorous body. It had just been awhile since anyone had shared his bed, that was all. Then Lizzie shifted sleepily and one of her ridiculous shoulder pads poked him in the cheek, drawing blood.<p>

"First order of business," he announced to the ceiling. "Buy you some clothes that won't get us arrested for indecency and that don't qualify as a deadly weapon."

"Such a drama queen," she mumbled and rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow and bringing her shoulder pad up to menace him again.

"Okay, I'm getting up," he grumbled.

His familiar was not a morning person, it would seem.

It was a good thing his honorary noble status hadn't turned him into a clotheshorse like most nobles he knew, he reflected as he splashed water on his face and slipped on his only shirt.

"Breakfast, Lizzie," he told her.

"Sure, dad," she answered, voice muffled from her face-down position. She didn't move.

Gendo shrugged and left. Any offspring of his could presumably fend for herself.

Scarron was still flitting about downstairs, looking as fresh as a daisy. Gendo had known Scarron for the better part of two decades, and could count the number of times he'd seen the eccentric at less than his best on one hand. "Take a seat anywhere, darling," he urged Gendo without looking.

A few of Scarron's 'fairies' were moving around too, taking setting out chairs and cleaning off tables.

"Anything on the menu for breakfast?"

Scarron called back, "You'll have to wait a little while darling, the fry bread isn't ready yet."

He took a seat and watched the ebb and flow of people for a little while. Lizzie appeared shortly, looking significantly more awake than when he'd seen her last. "Oh, I'll cook!" Lizzie said enthusiastically. She slipped through the doors into the kitchen area, elbowing one fairy gently aside.

"Gendo, can your Lizzie cook well?" Scarron asked worriedly.

Gendo shrugged indifferently.

Inside of fifteen minutes she was back, bearing a plate. She slid the plate in front of him. It was some kind of egg and cheese dish, he thought.

"It's an omelet," she explained. "Egg and cheese on the outside, wrapped around other things."

Gendo ate a bite. He paused, and felt a curious sensation.

"What is this, tears? Am I crying?" Gendo wondered, mystified.

"I wrested the secrets of cooking from the hands of dead gods," Lizzie explained. "Some people who taste my cooking unprepared, die."

Gendo's eyes popped wide. "And you didn't want to mention this beforehand?"

She shrugged. "Papa's tough. He wouldn't die from something like that."

"May I try?" Scarron wondered, his curiosity aroused.

"You are welcome to this omelet _over my dead body_," Gendo threatened. "Or _yours_."

"I'll cook you one too, Mister Scarron," Lizzie promised.

After narrowly escaping Scarron forcing Lizzie into becoming a short order cook, Gendo's next order of business had been to get the girl into something that wouldn't get them thrown in jail on prostitution charges.

Scarron, of course, had known the address of a reputable tailor. Gendo was just hoping Lizzie wouldn't emerge from the experience wearing a purple tank top and shorts.

The shop sign proclaimed it to be simply "Magnimel's."

The owner, Pierre, was a whip-thin middle aged man with a pencil-thin moustache and receding but rather lustrous chestnut hair. He darted between the many mannequins crowding the shop with grace and aplomb.

"Oh my, sir," Pierre breathed. "Though I am confident you would look magnifique in my oufits, I have a very particular clientele. I'm afraid I have nothing to fit such a _masculine_ form. Though if you like that sort of thing, I do have a colleague…"

The owner's voice was like what Scarron's would be as a light tenor. The bad feeling he'd had even before entering the shop was not assuaged.

"The clothes aren't for _me_," Gendo said firmly. He glanced around. "Lizzie, where-?"

They found her admiring an outfit that was, not to put too fine a point on it, a chain mail bikini. It was backed by a leather loincloth to prevent chafing, but it was still pretty close to the most impractical article of clothing Gendo had ever seen. Still better than Lizzie's current wardrobe, though only barely, he judged.

Pierre saw his disapproving look and came to his clothing's defense. "I will have you know that this clothing line is very popular with the Germanian adventuring crowd."

Then, it seemed Pierre got his first good look at Lizzie. "Holy Founder," he whispered.

"Yes, yes, shock, disgust, if we could see something in stock a little more -" Gendo began, bored.

"Magnifique! So _bold_, so ferocious! A style sharp enough to pierce the heart!"

He was, after all, one of Scarron's friends.

"Oh, my inspiration is overflowing! The changing room is over there, help yourselves. I need paper!" Pierre flew off, leaving Lizzie with carte blanche to try on everything in the store. Gendo had good instincts for a bachelor, and resigned himself to not seeing daylight for some time.

* * *

><p>Lizzie came out and gave a little twirl. The earth-toned dress with apron sewed on puffed out and settled back against her legs. She readjusted the hat in the shape of a mushroom cap. "Second opinion?" she asked.<p>

"Too domestic," Gendo offered.

"All right," she accepted. "Let's see what else he has…"

* * *

><p>A midriff-baring sailor suit, complete with seaman's cap.<p>

Gendo took one look and voted nay. "Not that one."

"I kind of like it. Sporty."

"Nope, try again."

"Aww…"

* * *

><p>A cream-colored sundress with purple and gold stitching. Affixed to Lizzie's head with wire was a halo.<p>

"Okay, if you're going for irony."

Lizzie couldn't really disagree with that one, but it was pretty.

* * *

><p>The next atrocity was essentially underwear with oversized raccoon paws, tail and head. It looked like it belonged in some exploitative traveling children's show. Or possibly a show aimed more specifically at adults.<p>

"Definitely not," Gendo vetoed.

Pierre glanced up from where he was swiftly sketching with a charcoal pencil. "The 'Beastmaster' is popular with a certain -" he started to argue.

"I can't see very well with the headpiece on," Lizzie said, deciding the matter.

* * *

><p>The next was a pleated dress in a deep crimson edged in black lace. It was drawn up on one side for ease of movement, creating a diagonally angled hem. As Lizzie moved this way and that, the dress floated away from her only to swish back into place moments later.<p>

"Not too bad," Gendo admitted. Probably the best they'd find in this fetish shop.

"I once had a very nice red dress," Lizzie said nostalgically. "And this just _feels_ right."

"Fire mage?" Pierre asked slyly, finally setting his sketch aside.

For a given value of 'mage' - "Yes."

"I suspected so," Pierre kept talking. "For the Fire Dancer design, I incorporated little bits of crushed firestone at the hems. It… resonates, might be a good word. You may find the power of your castings to be stronger, at the cost of more depleted willpower and a small likelihood of the spell escaping your control and laying waste to all it can reach."

"On the other hand," Gendo backpedaled instantly, "Maybe the mushroom one wasn't so bad."

"Dad, stop being a scaredy cat," Lizzie said.

"You do _not_ need more firepower -"

"You don't know that!"

Gendo groaned. "Fine."

"Hooray!" his hellspawn cheered.

"What do we owe you?" Gendo asked Pierre.

"Non, non," Pierre waved him away. "For the cost of inspiration, what is mere cloth? Take it, and my thanks!"

"Done and done," Gendo agreed hurriedly, before he could change his mind.

* * *

><p>"I think we should send you out to do some work, toughen up those weak noodle-y arms of yours. I'm thinking lumberjacking."<p>

"I once slew the God of War in single combat and kicked his flaming carrion aside so he would not impede my path," Lizzie said, a non-sequitur if he'd ever heard one.

"Yes, or maybe put you to work on a farm," Gendo went on, ignoring her. "Some honest work will put some meat on those bones. Plus, money for Gendo's drinky fund."

She sighed. "Yes, Papa."

"Wait, no, even better- we'll go adventuring. This continent has lots of magical items and old ruins left over from the wars with the elves and other countries. We'll be rich before you know it!"

Lizzie gave in, as she usually did. With a patient, "Yes, Papa…"

* * *

><p>AN: The summon this time is Lizzie Shinkicker from SynthOrange's Let's Play of Princess Maker. A bit obscure, but quite fun.


End file.
